


Let's Hurry Up, Spiritual Perfection

by ryfkah



Category: Shoujo Kakumei Utena | Revolutionary Girl Utena
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 05:48:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4467740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryfkah/pseuds/ryfkah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is more than a collection of still frames.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Hurry Up, Spiritual Perfection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [genarti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/genarti/gifts).



“I want to join the fencing club.”

Juri closed the locker door, her back already bracing for the blow. “You can't.”

“Juri -”

Juri turned around to face Shiori. Her voice, she was pleased to note, sounded calm to her own ears. “You don't like fencing,” she said. “You never have. You're at loose ends now, and you're feeling lonely. I'm sorry about that, but that shouldn't lead you to make a rash decision.”

Nothing much had changed after the last duel. All her feelings were still raging away inside her, as stupid and uncontrollable as ever. She wouldn't have had it any differently. To have her freedom as Ruka's gift – that wouldn't have been any kind of freedom.

That realization was a kind of a gift in and of itself. It gave her something to stand on.

“What do you mean, I never liked fencing?” Shiori said. She was twisting her hands together, defensive and injured. “Even when we were little, and we used to play with sticks --”

“I don't really remember that,” Juri said, which of course was a lie. Sometimes it felt like all she had of her childhood was memories of Shiori. Frame after frame, two little girls in silhouette.

In this particular frame they’d been ten years old. Juri had wanted to play at being Musketeers. Then she'd accidentally hit Shiori when they were thwacking away at each other, and Shiori had started to cry, and Juri had felt like the worst monster in the world. She'd thrown away the stick and apologized over and over, fumbling for words until she ran all the way out of them. Then Shiori had lifted her head and looked at Juri, her eyes bright. 'Let's try again,' she'd said, 'I don't mind.'

She was always hurting Shiori back then. Nothing ever changed. Juri said, “I remember you joining the fencing club with me, and quitting after a week. You said you hated having to try and hit people.”

“That wasn't it.” Shiori looked down, shyly. “I was always embarrassed to tell you, but the truth is I quit because I was bad at it – and you were always so good! I was so stupid, I didn't know how to stick to anything. Now --” She glanced up at Juri through her lashes, and Juri thought hard about her own feet, planted steadily on the ground. “I try not to give up so easily.”

“Maybe you should,” said Juri. She heard her voice gentling in spite of itself, thinking about Shiori clutching onto Ruka's arm. “Sometimes you have to learn to give up.”

The gentleness was a mistake. Shiori took a breath, with what might have been relief. “Oh, Juri.” Her mouth curved up, just a little. “You say things like that, but I know you don't mean it. You know you don't! You really --”

“If you say 'believe in miracles,'” Juri said, sharply, “I swear I'll --” She stopped herself, with an effort. She wasn't going to slap anyone, especially not Shiori. It was easy to lash out, but it wasn't worth the cost. Ruka had taught her that too. Leading by the opposite of example. “Shiori,” she said, instead. “Did you ever think that a person could believe in miracles, and still not want one?”

There was a pause. Then Shiori said, “But, Juri, the fencing club --”

Juri turned away. “The answer's still no.”

Shiori said, softly, “You're as cruel as he was.”

It was calculated to sting, and it did, of course. There were stinging things to say back in response, but Juri swallowed them, as she always did. “Don't compare me to that person,” she said instead. “If I'm cruel, it's in my own way.”

Knowing that that was true gave her some comfort as well.

 

_Guess what? Guess what? Do you know what?_

_I'm going to be the world's greatest swimsuit model!_

_What a coincidence!_

_What?_

_I've always wanted to be a swimsuit model, too!_

_That's an amazing coincidence!_

_It means we were really destined to be friends, doesn't it?_

_Wait – I've changed my mind!_

_What?_

_I don't want to be a swimsuit model anymore. I want to be the world's greatest Marco Polo player!_

_What a coincidence!_

_What?_

_Secretly, I've always wanted to be a professional Marco Polo player!_

_Wow! We really were destined to be friends!_

_But can you really even play Marco Polo professionally...?_

 

“Those drama club girls really make themselves a nuisance, don't they?” Juri remarked to Miki.

Miki blinked. “I guess I don't really pay that much attention to them.”

“It seems they’re doing a performance.” Juri unfolded the flier. One of the girls had pressed it in her hand as they passed: _Theatrical Troupe Kashira Presents the Tale of the Rose._

It was an amateurish flyer as these things went, but then, the drama club had never had a large budget. Someone had written along the top of it, _Juri, we're not your biggest fans, but we're close! We'd love it if you came!_

“Oh,” Miki said, startled, “I've got one too.” He looked at it, and then flushed, and crumpled it hastily away, but not before Juri saw what was scrawled on top of his: _If you love the Rose Bride, you'll really love our new show!_

“Are you going to go?”

“No! No. I mean – I don't think so.” Miki clicked his stopwatch fretfully. “I don’t care much about theater. And there's an exam coming up.”

“That's sensible,” said Juri. She felt a sudden ache in her chest, and suppressed it. Usually it was easy with Miki. The person she was with him was the person she wanted to be: cool, strong, kind, and above all, disinterested. There weren't any selfish or ugly feelings mixed up in their relationship at all – or if they were, they were hidden too deeply for her to recognize them. It might be possible to care about someone without wanting anything in return. That really was a miracle, if anything was.

Still, like all miracles, it came with a cost. She wanted to talk -- for the first time in a long time, with the emptiness around her neck, she thought there were things she might want to talk about and try to make sense of. Miki would understand if anyone could. But she didn't want to start, and she didn't want to push, and she didn't want to stop being that calm, disinterested person who could be looked up to. If he wanted to talk, she would listen, but it couldn't go both ways. She couldn't be the one to move out of this frame.

She didn't know if there was anybody she had a right to ask for things from. Any type of older-sister person, like she was for Miki – though she had a real older sister, didn't she?

Of course she had an older sister. Her childhood was made up of more than two little girls. She'd almost forgotten that.

They walked on a little ways. On the opposite path, Saionji putted by on an electric scooter, with Touga lounging languidly off the back of it. Neither of them were wearing helmets. “Those two are going to kill themselves one day,” murmured Juri.

“Juri-san,” Miki said. “Please don't take this the wrong way, but I think I'm going to quit the fencing club.”

Juri stopped walking, and then, consciously, started again. “Oh?” she said. After her recent thoughts, it felt like a judgment.

“I never want to – but somehow I always --” He stopped himself, and said, carefully, “I don't think I have the qualifications of a duelist.”

Juri didn't know what had happened in Miki's latest duel, but from tone of his voice, it wasn't hard to guess something about it.

Throw away the ring, then, Juri wanted to say, if that's what this is about. Throw away the ring, but don't throw away something you're good at, that you could be great at. Don't throw away the chance for me to watch you grow.

Of course, Ruka had said that she had great potential. Everything he had done, he said, he had done so she could reach it. Ruka, undoubtedly, had also thought his acts were selfless. “Of course you should do what you think is best,” Juri said.

“You're not angry, are you?” Miki looked at her anxiously. “Juri-san – our friendship is something I really value. I don't want us to lose that.”

Juri made herself smile. “Why would we?”

“If we're not in the fencing club together – and then, you've been thinking of quitting the student council, haven't you?”

Startled, Juri said, “Why would you think that?”

“Well – I don't know.” Miki sounded a little more hesitant now. “I just – get the feeling that you don't want to duel anymore against Utena Tenjou, either. Am I wrong?”

“That's perceptive.” Juri glanced at him. “But does that necessarily mean I would quit the student council? After all, Miki-kun, someone still has to organize school festivals, liaise with the administration, keep the student body informed on important school events --”

They looked at each other, and then they both started to laugh, and didn't stop for a while. Miki laughed so hard that tears formed at the corners of his eyes. Moved by a sudden impulse, Juri reached out and ruffled his hair. “It's all right,” she said. “It'll be all right, Miki. We'll always be friends, won't we?”

 _It'll be all right,_ Ruka had said. She hadn't even come close to believing him. It was different hearing it in her own voice. She still didn't quite believe it, but it sounded like it might at least be plausible.

 

_Hey, did you hear?_

_That famous swimsuit model – they say she's got a secret!_

_Ooh, I wanna know!_

_They say not even her best friend knows about it …_

_I wanna know, I wanna know!_

_Weeeee-elll ... they say say deep down, though she looks so cool on top, she's really got a tail like a fish!_

_Oh, that. That's old news! Tell me something else about her that's more interesting!_

_What? But that's the only thing I know …_

 

“Honestly,” Juri said, out loud, “are you following me?”

One of the theater club girls – she never could remember any of their names, they all blended into one another – turned to her and laughed. “What happens if you quit the fencing club too, Juri-senpai? You're pretty, and you're popular – you should come be the star of one of our shows!”

“The Very Hungry Caterpillar!”

“Or the Rose of Versailles!”

“Those two things aren't really in the same league ...”

“Hey, how about playing a Musketeer?”

“Too bad,” Juri said, coolly. “I'm not planning on quitting the fencing club any time soon.”

“Too bad!”

“It's too bad!”

“You're such a good actress!”

“Don't you ever want to change things up a little?”

“I don't have time for this,” Juri said, and strode on.

Behind her, she could hear a chorus of high-pitched female voices: “We hope you'll come to our show!”

Juri closed the door behind her, cutting them off, and then leaned back against the door and closed her eyes. She was alone now in her sanctuary. She had an hour before she had to be at the fencing club. Miki wouldn't be there – but then, he wouldn't have been there anyway. Thursdays were for beginner practice. Juri had to remember to go easy on those beginners, who were all a little bit afraid of her. She tried to remember her notes from last week: Uruhiya needed to widen her stance, Tenma was too timid, Fujiyama too aggressive...

Shiori would have been there with all the other girls, if Juri had let her come. Shiori might be there anyway. She didn't give up easily. To ask Juri in private and be rejected was one thing. It was another thing to ask in front of everybody, and give Juri the choice of accepting, or publicly rejecting her again. At that point, Juri wouldn't have a choice. There was only so cruel she could stand to be.

And then what? What would she do? Let Shiori in? Try desperately to treat her like all the others, to stay calm, strong, disinterested? Correct her stance, position her arms, encourage her to aim for the heart?

Or quit the fencing club after all, like Miki? Decide that she couldn't be who she was anymore, that it was time to go become somebody new? That was easy to do, if you were just a member of the club. Harder if you were the captain. People looked up to Juri and relied on her.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd looked up to anyone. Maybe her older sister, when they were small.

Anyway, who would be captain if she left? Someone else like Ruka or Touga, putting their hands all over the younger kids in the name of teaching them something important? Shiori wasn't her whole world. There were other people in it, too. The fencing club, Miki, Utena. Her sister, even.

Juri straightened herself and went towards the kitchen, absently rubbing the empty skin around her neck.

It had been an awfully long time since she'd talked to her sister, hadn't it? And she'd looked up to her, she really had. Her sister had been the one with the modeling gigs then. Juri had only ever really gotten into it because of her. She and Shiori had snuck into her room when she wasn't there and played with her jewelry, tried on her Donna Karan high-heeled shoes and laughed as they fell out of them.

Juri had always known her parents would buy her those things when she got older, too, if she wanted. Shiori's parents wouldn't have been able to afford them. Juri had never thought about that back then, either.

It was funny how Ohtori swallowed you whole. You brought in certain things with you – a sword, a ring, a piano, a locket – and your life narrowed down to just those things. What came before, what led to them, got erased in the meantime.  

She still had forty-five minutes before practice. She'd meant to make herself some tea, maybe prep tomorrow's lunch. Instead she sat down at the table and pulled out her cell phone.

It rang three times, and then her sister picked up.


End file.
